I Love You This Much
by reading
Summary: A song-fic. Rated "R" for bad language.
1. Chapter 1

I Love You This Much 

A song-fic. Yes. I am a sap.

I don't own The O.C. or any of its characters. Lyrics to I Love You This Much were written by Jimmy Wayne, Chris DuBois and Don Sampson.

Ryan poked tentatively at his older brother, casually trying to ease the sheet off his brother's body.

"Come on, Trey. Wake up – we're going to Wild Water today." Ryan pulled a little harder on the covers, but stayed on his toes, ready to spring back if Trey was in a hitting mood.

Trey grunted in exasperation, and rolled over with a jerk, wrenching the bedclothes out of his brother's fingers. He turned his back decisively to Ryan.

"Stop it."

"Trey, come on. Mom'll leave you." It was as close to a whine as Ryan allowed himself to get. He wanted Trey to be there. Everything was more fun if Trey was there.

"Pleeeeeeaaaaaaase." He reached for Trey's shoulder. "Dad's coming, too."

At that, Trey flipped over with a growl, grabbing a hold of the front of Ryan's pajama top. "Don't be such a baby, Ryan. Dad's not going to go."

Ryan slapped at Trey's hand and pulled back in his brother's grasp, stretching the thin fabric of his shirt. He scowled. "Mom said he would." Even under the petulance, Trey heard the doubt.

"Yeah. Like she hasn't said that before."

Ryan strained away from Trey even harder, this time digging his small nails into the flesh of his brother's wrist.

"Ow! Dammit!" Trey let go, and Ryan tumbled backward onto the floor, landing with a crash against a pile of grimy Legos and a battered Erector set. Both boys froze.

Ryan held his breath, listening for the sound of their parents stirring. Trey hung, motionless, over the side of the bed, arm still outstretched, eyes on the door, ears strained. There was quiet for a split second, and then "bam!" Ryan and Trey cringed at the sound of their father's feet hitting the floor. The next crash was the door to their parent's room hitting the wall as it flew open. Ryan scrambled out of the scattered toys, crawling as fast as he could across the floor toward Trey, who reached out and pulled him, panting, onto the bed.

Slam! The door to their bedroom cracked against the wall as their father slung it open.

Both boys cowered slightly on the bed, Trey shifting almost imperceptibly so that he was in front of his little brother.

"What the fucking hell is going on in here?!" Their father's rage washed over his sons.

Ryan and Trey shook their heads in tandem.

"Nothing, Daddy." Ryan whispered it first, and his father swung his head toward his younger son.

"Nothing?" He mimicked Ryan's hesitant voice contemptuously. "Nothing?" Now it was a shout. "I get one goddamned night at home and you stupid kids wake me up at fucking 6 o'clock in the morning?!" He was advancing toward the bed and the boys inched further into the corner, afraid of moving too fast for fear of making him even angrier. They'd learned that, and other lessons, the hard way.

"I'm sor..." Ryan started to apologize, his voice tight with unshed tears and terror.

"It's my fault." Trey cut across Ryan's attempt to diffuse their father's anger. Now, the hot eyes locked onto the older boy. Trey's own eyes fell. "I.... I.... pushed him."

Ryan made a small sound of distress and denial, eyes darting from his brother to his father, but Trey, with one hand behind his back, gripped Ryan's leg, willing him to be still.

"You what?" Quiet now. Always a bad sign.

Trey's chin came up. "He was being a brat, whining about the stupid trip to Wild Water." Defiance. "I told him to shut up. And pushed him."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" A large hand gripped Trey's t-shirt and yanked him off the bed. "He's smaller than you." A shake. "Why are you picking on him?" Another shake and release. Trey staggered back before he fell, hard, on his butt. Eyes stinging, Trey glared up at his father.

"Because he's such a _girl_! Because he's such a _fucking_," Trey ground it out, twisting it, reveling in the bad word, "baby!" He climbed to his feet, shaking with rage and humiliation. "He actually believes that you'd go with us to the park." His words dripped with scorn. "That we'd go have happy fun family time." His tone took on a mocking lightness. "He believes everything Mom tells him, and it's all _lies_!" The last word was a scream torn from the throat of a 11-year-old boy whose devastation and disappointment was every bit as sharp as his 6-year-old brother's.

The fist that landed on the side of Trey's head lifted him off the ground, flinging him into the wall above the bed.

Ryan heard the crack of bones breaking as he crouched on the bed, arms over his head. Trey slid down the wall landing heavily beside Ryan, almost slipping between the mattress and the wall to the floor. Ryan reached out quickly, grabbing a small fistful of Trey's pajamas, trying to hold him on the bed. Trey groaned at the rough grip, but Ryan didn't let go. Tucked into a ball, Ryan held tightly onto Trey, and waited for the feel of his father's hand on his neck, on his arm, on his shoulder; waited for his turn.

Long seconds passed, and Ryan risked a frightened glance in his father's direction. He was staring at the boys in a way that made the skin all over Ryan's body try to crawl into his hair. Breathless with terror, Ryan braced himself.

"What in the _hell_ is going on?" Dawn Atwood stumbled blearily into the room. A night of hard partying with her husband had given her the mother of all hangovers. She'd been dimly aware of the commotion in her morning stupor, but it had been the deafening silence that had finally roused her out of bed.

She pushed past her husband and threw herself at the bed and her terrified children.

"What have you done?" she cried, pulling Trey to her. "Baby? Baby!" She cradled Trey in her arms and he moaned softly, turning into her, and started to sob.

"GET OUT!" She shrieked it at her husband. "Get out!" She put Trey back on the bed and flung herself at the father of her children. "Don't you ever touch them again! Ever!"

Ryan watched as his father easily fended off Dawn's blows, his face a mask, his eyes blank. Finally, he'd managed to capture both of her wrists as she'd flailed at him, and she'd collapsed sobbing at his feet.

His father released his hold on Dawn and stepped away from her. As he'd turned to leave, he'd looked into the eyes of his younger son. Ryan felt the chill down to his toes. Then he was gone.

Ryan wondered if he'd ever be warm again.

xxxx

Ryan slid into the house through the front door. He'd tried his bedroom window first, but found it locked. He was sure he'd unlocked it before he'd left the house this morning. He shook his head slightly trying to clear it. He and Theresa had split a 40 of Schlitz after Mass and the world was a fuzzy place right now. Maybe he'd unlocked it yesterday morning.

He always liked Christmas Eve Mass with Theresa's family. He was ashamed of himself for letting Arturo and Trey convince him to drink on Christmas Eve. But it was even harder to say "no" to Trey now that he'd moved out of the house. Ryan missed his older brother more than he would have thought possible 3 months ago when Trey had slammed out the front door, screaming that he'd never be back. At first, Ryan had thought the quiet would be nice – no more Mom yelling, Trey yelling, Brad yelling. But things had gotten exponentially worse since Trey had moved out. He hated being in the house by himself or even with his mom. And he did all he could to avoid Brad when he was around. When Trey had been there, it hadn't seemed so empty, so desperate; there had just always been Trey. Trey had meant companionship and safety and home – and Ryan hadn't realized it until he was gone. So, now, whenever Trey wanted to hang out, Ryan was willing to do almost anything to make Trey want him around more.

Ryan leaned against the doorjamb, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness and the room to stop spinning. When he could make out the dim shapes of the furniture around the room, Ryan pushed the door the final few centimeters until it latched. Moving carefully, if unsteadily, through the cluttered room, Ryan picked his way toward the relative safety of the room he now had to himself. Ryan had his back to the room as he closed the door, sighing in relief that he'd made it undetected.

"Nice night?"

Ryan jumped and whirled around. The lamp next to his bed switched on, flooding the room with light. Heart pounding, Ryan confronted Dawn's latest boyfriend.

Brad got off the bed and moved toward him. Ryan spun around, clutching at the doorknob, desperate to get out, but the older man was too fast. Looming over the 13-year-old, Brad crowded into Ryan's space.

Leaning down, he sniffed. "Have you been drinking?"

Ryan tried, without success, to back away from the man, but there was no where to go. "No," he said, trying to bluff his way out. "That's not me you smell," he said, recklessly deciding on belligerence as a cover. "You're the one who drinks all day."

"Punk." Brad grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him up against the wall. Pulling the door open, Brad pushed Ryan out into the hall. Ryan struggled, but Brad shifted his grip from the boy's shoulder to the base of his neck, his large hand almost encircling the slim throat. He squeezed roughly, jerking Ryan back toward him.

"I thought we'd taken care of this smart mouth awhile ago," he gritted into Ryan's ear, shaking the boy hard. "Let's go talk to the belt again." Ryan felt the fear lurch painfully into his stomach and he started to fight in earnest, trying to wrench free of the powerful man.

"No!" Ryan tried to twist out of Brad's work roughened hands. "Please! I'm sorry!" He reached back awkwardly, scrabbling for a hold. "Please don't." Ryan hated the tears in his voice, but he didn't want the belt again. He'd never been beaten as badly as he had the first and last time Brad went at him with the belt. Mom had kept him home from school three days and he'd still had to wear long sleeves for a week to cover the welts and broken skin. That had been when he'd learned to sleep on his stomach.

There was no placating Brad, though, and he shoved Ryan toward the closet where he kept the belt.

Ryan dug in his heels, but he was too small to make Brad even break his stride. He didn't bother to call for his mother. It had never done any good in the past; he had no reason to think it would tonight.

Slamming Ryan, back to the wall, into the space between the closet and the door into the hall, his hand now wrapped around the boy's throat, Brad opened the door to the closet, reached in and pulled out the belt he kept hanging on a peg. Ryan tugged ineffectually at the thick fingers that were pinning him to the wall.

Ryan's eyes went frantically from the belt to Brad. "Please, don't. I'm sorry."

"Turn around." Ryan saw no mercy in Brad's eyes. He hung his head in defeat.

Trembling, Ryan obeyed, putting his hands on the wall, and, closing his eyes, pressed his flushed cheek against the cool, chipped sheet rock.

"Brad?" Ryan turned at the sound of his mother's voice. She was slurring, hesitant.

"What, babe?" Brad put a hand on Ryan's shoulder to keep him in place.

"What are you doing?"

"The boy here's been drinking. On Christmas Eve. Seems to me he needs an attitude adjustment." He flicked his wrist causing the belt to jump to life, making it writhe briefly.

Dawn's eyes went from the belt to Ryan to Brad and back to Ryan.

"Is that true, Ryan?"

Desperate enough to take a risk that his mother might help him, Ryan said urgently, "No, Mom! I swear...." He'd gotten no more out when Brad backhanded him, knocking him to the floor.

"And he's a liar to boot." He looked at Dawn, who had taken an uncertain step toward her son. "Take a whiff of him." He nudged Ryan with his foot as the boy struggled to his knees. "He reeks of malt liquor."

Ryan squirmed away from Brad, focused on his mother. Maybe, this time.

"Mom, please." He staggered to his feet, sidling toward her. "Mom."

But Dawn's eyes were on Brad.

"He's a liar, Dawn."

Her eyes went to Ryan, pleading with him.

And he knew it was hopeless.

When Brad got a hold of him again, Ryan didn't struggle. And Dawn turned and walked out of the room.

_He can't remember the times that he thought:  
"Does my daddy love me? Probably not."  
But that didn't stop him from wishing that he did,  
Didn't keep him from wanting or worshipping him. _

He guesses he saw him 'bout once a year.  
He could still feel the way he felt, standing in tears,  
Stretching his arms out as far as they'd go,  
An' whispering: "Daddy, I want you to know,

_"I love you this much and I'm waiting on you,  
"To make up your mind: do you love me too?  
"However long it takes, I'm never giving up.  
"No matter what, I love you this much." _


	2. Chapter 2

_I Love You This Much - Chapter 2_

_Still don't own The OC or I Love You This Much. I didn't indicate this was going to be a multiple part story in the first chapter – sorry about that. I messed something up and couldn't figure out how to fix it._

_xxxx_

There were times at night, after he'd said goodnight to the Cohens, when Ryan would turn, on his way out to the pool house and see them together in the kitchen. The California night framed the kitchen, awash in light. Sandy would be standing, his arm around Kirsten, or a hand on Seth's shoulder, at the island, by the table, in the doorway. Kirsten would be smiling up at him or across the room at Seth, laughing, reaching out. And Seth gesticulating wildly, grinning, eye-rolling. Ryan absorbed those images – wondering at, longing for, the sense of belonging he saw there. He was at the cusp of it, he knew, somewhere in his heart, but he hadn't gotten it yet. Not quite.

As he'd gotten closer to the Cohens, Ryan had begun to realize that who he was would always be affected by who he had been. Even as he recognized this feeling of security, of safety, the growing sense of _belonging _– with the Cohens, to them – the past, with its uncertainty and instability, could still, on occasion, broadside him.

xxxx

He couldn't remember what had started the chase, but he knew it had started in the pool. A lazy afternoon, floating on the rafts; flicking of water escalating to splashing to overturning floats to dunking to running around the pool to dashing through the kitchen into the living room. Slick floors and wet feet, sliding, laughing, crashing, and both boys in heap, with the remains of a table and its many vases and picture frames and glass figurines scattered, it seemed like, everywhere.

"Oh, shit."

Seth's half-giggled, half-frightened exclamation was echoed by Ryan as he uncurled from the ball he'd tucked into, protecting himself from the falling debris and Seth's flailing limbs.

Wide-eyed the boys looked at each other. "Oh, shit."

They scrambled out of the mess, Seth managing to cut his foot even as they searched for an area of floor that wasn't covered with shards of glass. "Shit, Ryan. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!" They surveyed the damage, and Ryan felt his heart start to pound. Not only had they broken everything that had been on top of the table, but the piece of furniture itself was in several pieces. "Ryan. Shit!" Seth seemed capable of only those two words.

"We'll clean it up before they get home," Ryan said, hoping that would be reasonable.

"Clean it up?! Ryan, that was Mom's favorite table. It was my grandmother's. That was like the shrine of Grandma stuff." Seth's voice was verging on panic. "Do you realize how much serious trouble we're in?"

Ryan's heart sank to his toes. He remembered now, Kirsten showing him the pictures of her mother, the vases Mrs. Nichol had loved, the delicate crystal animals she'd collected, that Ryan had been too afraid even to touch for fear of breaking one. _Oh my God._

"But. We can't just leave it like this, can we?" It came out as more of a question than he'd intended. Maybe it _would_ be better to leave it? That way they couldn't do any additional unintentional damage. Maybe Kirsten wouldn't want them to touch those things ever again, even to try and clean up. He looked at Seth.

Seth was chewing on his lip. "No, you're right. We should clean it up as best we can." He met Ryan's worried gaze. "She's going to be so upset."

Seth limped out of the room for the broom and the dust pan, as Ryan began trying to salvage any pieces that might be worth saving. A couple of the pictures were still safe in their frames, but the rest had broken glass. Ryan carefully extricated the pictures from the glass, setting them aside. Miraculously, several of the little figurines had survived, and Ryan was in the middle of putting them gently with the pictures, when the front door opened.

Crouched on the floor, Ryan froze at the sound of Kirsten's voice.

"What...? What happened?" Ryan could hear the confusion and the dawning realization in her voice.

"Mom." Seth was at the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, broom and dust pan in hand.

"Seth. What happened?" Anger now, grief.

"Mom, we're so sorry." He moved toward her.

Kirsten dropped to the floor next to Ryan, reaching out and picking up the pieces of one of the crystal animals.

"How did this happen?" Pure anger now. "Were you boys running in the house?" She took in their board shorts and wet hair, the little puddles on the floor. "Chasing each other in here when I've told you over and over not to bring those games into the house?"

"How could you, Seth? Ryan. How could you be so careless? So thoughtless?" There were tears threatening to take over the anger, but she wasn't ready to go there yet.

"Mom...." Seth was perilously close to tears himself, knowing how much all those broken things had meant to his mother.

"Get out." Kirsten's voice cut Seth off. "Both of you, leave now."

Ryan felt like his blood had turned to ice. He hadn't moved from his position on the floor since Kirsten had come in. Slowly, Ryan stood. He met Kirsten's eyes, and walked out of the room.

"Mom, please. We're so sorry."

"Seth. I can't deal with you right now, OK? Please just go."

Head bowed, Seth trailed Ryan out of the house.

Kirsten sat carefully in the middle of the remains of her mother's things. The vases were all shattered, the pictures cracked. Kirsten picked up one of the undamaged frames, and smoothed a finger over the smiling image of her mother. Looking around, she noticed the small pile of items that had been so carefully set aside. _Ryan_, she thought with a smile in spite of herself. _Always so careful._ And as she thought of him, the picture of his face after she'd told the boys to leave, came to her. Frozen, pale, eyes dark with an emotion she just recognized. _Oh my God._ Kirsten jumped up and ran out of the room.

"Ryan!" Kirsten burst into the pool house. Ryan was sitting on the bed, knees drawn up to his chest, while Seth sat at the end of the bed, chattering on while he played with a Game Boy. Two startled pairs of eyes turned toward her. Seth's were questioning, Ryan's desolate.

"Seth, will you let me talk to Ryan alone for a minute?" If anything, the look in Ryan's eyes got worse, as Seth stuttered out. "Mom, it isn't his fault! I started it, I ran into the house. Ryan just chased me in. It was my fault!"

Kirsten looked at Seth in surprise. "Oh, honey, I know that." When she looked at Ryan, she saw an expression on his face that she had hoped never to see again. It was the guarded, closed look he'd worn for weeks when he'd first moved in. But now, knowing him, she could see the emotion that he was trying to hide. She could read his face as surely as she could read Seth's.

She kept her eyes on Ryan's. "I just need to make sure that Ryan understands something, OK? Don't worry. You aren't missing out on any punishment."

Groaning, Seth nodded and headed out the door.

"Why don't you get a start on cleaning up in there?"

Kirsten moved slowly toward the bed, where Ryan had drawn into himself again. Arms wrapped tightly around his legs, he did what he could to avoid her gaze.

Kirsten sat gingerly, and reached out gentle hand. She rested it lightly on his knee, and said, "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry." Ryan turned his head toward her. The desolate look was now confusion. "When I said, 'Get out' earlier." Ryan flushed, embarassed and surprised that Kirsten had read him so easily. He felt unwanted tears sting his eyes. Turning his head away again, Ryan rested his hot cheek on his knees.

"I only meant that I needed you boys to give me some time to myself. I would never, _never_ mean for you to get out of the house, Ryan. Never." She had tears in her own eyes, and she hesitated a moment before she stroked her hand over his damp head. "Please tell me that you believe me." There was a slight pause, and she felt his head nod under her hand.

"I believe you." It was a slightly broken whisper.

"Do you?" She wondered if he was telling her what she wanted to hear. He nodded again.

"Will you look at me, please?" He turned his head toward her, and she stroked cool fingers over his flushed cheek. "I promise, Ryan, that we will never ask you to leave, that this will always be your home, that _we_ will _always_ be your home." She watched him intently, willing him to believer her. "OK?" He nodded slowly.

"I know." He looked toward the house and then back at Kirsten. "I really do know. It's just sometimes ... things just hit me weird ... and I can't ... I can't... seem to stop myself from reacting in a way I know isn't right." She could see the uncertainty in his eyes. "I hate it."

She nodded her head and ran her fingers through his hair. "I think that's OK, sweetie. Or at least not something to let yourself fret about right now. It's hard to change patterns, whatever they may be." She pulled her hand away from him. "Just try to hold on to what's true – that we love you and we're here for you – when those old habits pull at you. The more you practice that, the better you'll be at it."

Ryan blushed again, but this time in shy pleasure at Kirsten's words, and Kirsten stood up.

"Why don't you go help Seth finish cleaning up the mess? I'll figure out a proper grounding period for you both when Sandy gets home."

Ryan crawled off the bed and made his way to the door. Turning back, he said softly, "I'm really sorry, Kirsten. About your Mom's things."

Kirsten smiled sadly. "I know you are, sweetie."

When Ryan was gone, Kirsten sank slowly down to the bed and let the tears flow. Tears for the bits and pieces of her mother's memory that were shattered and gone; and tears for the broken heart of a boy who was just starting to mend.

_He grew to hate him for what he had done,  
'Cause what kind of a father could do that to his son.  
He said: "Damn you, Daddy," the day that he died.  
The man didn't blink but the little boy cried._

_"I love you this much and I'm waiting on you,  
"To make up your mind: do you love me too?  
"However long it takes, I'm never giving up.  
"No matter what, I love you this much." _


	3. Chapter 3

_I Love You This Much – Chapter 3_

_This is the final chapter. Thanks for the reviews. Hope y'all like the end._

A letter addressed to Ryan sat on the mail table. Seth and Ryan had each gotten several letters from different schools in California. Sandy smiled as he glanced at it as he walked through the kitchen. He stopped. _The University of Texas?_ Sandy picked it up and turned it over. It had the heft of an acceptance letter. He checked the front of the envelope again. _Plan II Office?_ Gently, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, Sandy put it down on the sideboard.

The boys tumbled into the house after school, heading straight to the kitchen. They were surprised by Sandy sitting at the island counter.

"Hey, Dad." Seth opened the refrigerator and pulled out a juice for himself and one for Ryan.

"You're home early."

Sandy nodded, but his eyes were on Ryan as the boy rifled through the mail. Sandy noticed Ryan pause as he saw the envelope from UT. Turning from the mail, letter in hand, held slightly behind him, he took the juice that Seth offered him.

"Yeah. Got out of court sooner than I expected." Sandy watched Ryan. "How were your days?"

"Great! Ted, the moron...." Seth started to launch into what would clearly be an extended story.

"Uh. I'll be right back." Ryan didn't look at Sandy or Seth and slipped out the back door.

Seth lifted a hand to acknowledge Ryan's departure, but didn't pause in his narrative. Sandy turned and watched his foster son disappear into the pool house.

xxxx

An hour later, Ryan still hadn't come back in the house. Sandy paced around the kitchen while Seth played a video game, oblivious. Finally, Sandy made his way out to the pool house.

"Ryan?" Sandy rapped lightly with his knuckles as he pushed the door open.

Ryan was sitting in the middle of the bed, head in hands, staring at the letter. He raised his head when Sandy peeked in.

"Hey."

Sandy closed the door behind him. "Everything alright?"

Silently, Ryan picked up the piece of paper and handed it to Sandy.

Sandy took it from the boy and skimmed it quickly. His eyebrows went up, and he looked quickly at Ryan. Now he read the letter more carefully.

"Ryan. Wow." Sandy shook his head as he sat down on the bed next to Ryan. "This is just... Well, it's wonderful!"

Ryan flushed slightly at Sandy's praise, but he still looked uncertain.

"It's Texas."

"Yes, it is." Sandy couldn't help himself. "Did you not realize that when you applied?"

Ryan looked up sharply and then realized Sandy was teasing him.

"Well, yeah. I just... I just... It's so far away."

Not understanding, Sandy asked gently, "If you're worried about it being far away, why did you apply?"

Ryan shrugged, eyes on the comforter. He glanced at Sandy and then away.

"Ryan?"

"I don't know. I guess... I guess I wondered what it would be like to go somewhere no one knows me. I didn't really think about what I'd do if I got in." He shot another glance at Sandy, trying to gauge his reaction. Sandy kept his face carefully neutral. He nodded slightly.

Encouraged, Ryan continued, but still hesitantly. "After one of the football games last fall, they had a commercial, and it looked cool, so I played around on the Internet, and checked it out. It's a really good program. Plan II."

Sandy nodded again, considering his next question.

"OK." He paused. "Why somewhere no one knows you?"

Ryan picked at the comforter, biting his lip.

"Have we managed to push you away with all our family meals and parental lectures?" Sandy smiled in an attempt to take the sting out of the question, but he couldn't quite keep the hurt out of his voice or his eyes.

"What?" Startled, Ryan gaped at Sandy and stumbled over his words. "No, Sandy. No! It isn't that at all. I promise." Ryan struggled to put his emotions into some kind of sense that Sandy would understand. He looked helplessly at his foster father. Sandy waited, trusting that if he was patient, Ryan would tell him.

Ryan dropped his eyes again; he could feel Sandy beside him, steady, solid. He took a deep breath.

"I applied for the program when things with Marissa were... bad. Before we broke up. Everything was so hard. And I felt, like, so... not me." He sighed. "But I wasn't even sure who I was supposed to be. I knew who I was in Chino; it sucked most of the time, but it was me." He started picking at the comforter again. "When I came here, to everyone I was 'that boy from Chino.'" He looked over at Sandy to see if he understood. Sandy nodded. "Even if I didn't feel like that kid anymore." He stopped for a long minute. "But that's who I was. Not to you and Seth and Kirsten. But to everyone else, to Marissa."

"I saw that ad for UT, and I wondered what it would be like to start over. Go somewhere I can be who I think I am now. Or who I want to be. Where no one's going to think they know who I am just because they know where I'm from."

"And if you go to Berkeley with Seth and so many kids from Harbor, Chino's going to follow you."

Ryan lifted a shoulder. "I guess it's going to follow me wherever I go." He gave Sandy an uncertain look. "But maybe in Texas it will follow a little further behind."

Sandy was silent. After a couple of long seconds, he reached out, tugging Ryan toward him. Obediently, Ryan crawled across the bed until he was sitting next to Sandy.

Closing his eyes, Sandy put an arm around Ryan and pulled him into a tight embrace. After only a slight hesitation, Ryan turned into Sandy, pressing his face into Sandy's shoulder.

"We love you so much." Sandy whispered it in Ryan's ear as he wrapped his arms more securely around his foster son. "You know that, don't you?" Sandy felt Ryan's response in the nod against his shoulder, the clutching of fingers against his back.

Pulling back slightly, Sandy took Ryan's face in his hands. "Is this what you want?"

Ryan nodded. "I think so."

"I told you once before, I wasn't going to let you go."

Ryan nodded again, and felt his eyes sting.

"Same goes this time, OK? Don't think you're getting out of Christmas breaks and summers here, understand?"

Ryan laughed unsteadily. "Do you promise?"

Sandy moved his hands to Ryan's shoulders and gave him a shake.

"Count on it."

Sandy released Ryan and slapped him on the knee. Rising he started toward the door.

"Seth's going to be so pissed." Sandy almost didn't catch Ryan's whisper. He turned back and saw Ryan still sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked at Sandy with anxious, unhappy eyes.

Sandy sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "He'll come around."

xxxx

The Cohens had responded to Ryan's acceptance to UT with a combination of anger, pleasure and dread. The anger, from Seth mostly, had abated after a certain amount of pouting and a firm talking to from Sandy about the responsibility of loving someone unconditionally. _You can be disappointed and hurt, Seth. I understand that. But don't punish Ryan for doing something he feels he has to do. You'll drive him away and lose him completely. You need to forgive him and move past this._ The pleasure and dread came in alternating waves for both Kirsten and Sandy. They were so proud of Ryan for getting in to a tough program, but the fear that he would never be back was sometimes overwhelming.

Kirsten dealt with her fear by denying it, throwing herself into preparing both the boys for college. She'd decided to accompany Ryan to Austin for the summer weekend of orientation to the University of Texas.

"I haven't seen Gloria in years," she insisted when she broke the news to the boys at dinner one night. "This will be a wonderful opportunity for us to catch up."

Ryan – and Seth and Sandy for that matter – looked at her doubtfully. "She lives in Austin?"

"She moved there right out of college."

"And you haven't seen her since?"

"We've kept in touch."

Sandy raised his eyebrows at her.

"We have! I sent her our last Chrismukkah card." Kirsten was done explaining herself. "I've already arranged everything. Ryan and I will fly out together next week."

Seth shook his head. "Dude," he laughed. "Just don't let her make you hold her hand."

"Stop it, Seth."

xxxx

Ryan would never have admitted it to Seth, but secretly he was pleased that Kirsten actually wanted to go with him to Austin. Seth took his parents' devotion for granted, and delighted in rolling his eyes and groaning at their loving insistence in being involved in his life. But Ryan still sometimes found himself surprised, and a little overwhelmed, when Sandy or Kirsten treated him like their own, and he reveled, privately, in any individual attention they gave him.

The Austin airport was not big, but it was confusing and disconcerting to land in a strange city. Ryan had been relieved not to have to negotiate the trip to the campus by himself.

"Kirsten!" There was a shout from the bottom of the escalator. Kirsten waved at the woman waiting for them. "Gloria!" She walked quickly down the moving steps, as Ryan trailed after her.

The two women embraced, laughing. "It's so great to see you in person again! Finally!"

They released each other, and Kirsten reached out for Ryan, pulling him close. "This is Ryan."

Smiling, Ryan held out his hand. Gloria took it and pulled him in for a hug. "Honey, any child of Kirsten's gets a hug from me!"

Ryan hugged her back, rolling his eyes at Kirsten, who grinned.

"Let's get y'all's bags, and then we'll get Ryan settled." She linked her arms through Kirsten's and Ryan's. "Honey," she said to Kirsten, "have I got plans for you while your boy learns the words to 'The Eyes of Texas' this week!"

xxxx

Three days later, Kirsten picked up Ryan outside Jester dormitory on campus. There were kids and parents milling around, and it took Kirsten awhile to spot Ryan's blonde head among the throng. When he saw her, Ryan's face split in a grin and he waved at her, dodging the other reunited families as he headed toward her.

"Hey!" He stopped in front of her, dropping his bag at her feet.

"Hey!" Forgetting her pledge to herself that she wouldn't embarrass him, she threw her arms around him. Ryan hugged her back enthusiastically. Kirsten laughed out loud as he squeezed the breath out of her.

"Did you have a good time?"

"Yeah. It was amazing!" His face was glowing, the excitement radiated off him. _Who was this boy?_

"Ryan!" A shout from behind her. Kirsten turned to see another boy Ryan's age maneuvering through the crowd. A man and a woman were trying to keep up with him.

"Hey, Jack." The two boys slapped hands.

"These are my parents. Luke and Deborah Cain." Ryan shook hands with his friend's parents.

"This is my mom." Only Kirsten heard the slight hesitation. He looked at her, unsure if he'd said the right thing. Kirsten felt the tears start to her eyes. She put a reassuring hand on his arm and smiled as she held out her hand to the couple.

"Kirsten Cohen."

"Y'all headed home tonight?"

Kirsten shook her head. "No, our plane leaves tomorrow morning."

"Y'all should totally come to the Salt Lick with us tonight!" Jack's invitation was eager. He looked to his parents for confirmation. They nodded.

"Yes, you must!" Deborah's voice was warm. "There are a few families we know with children starting in the fall. We're meeting at the Salt Lick for dinner."

"Salt Lick?" Kirsten was skeptical.

Luke laughed. "Barbecue! Great stuff. You gotta try it."

Kirsten looked at Ryan for guidance. He was nodding his head.

"OK, we'll come. What time? And how do I get there?"

xxxx

The Texas Hill Country was beautiful as Kirsten and Ryan headed out of town toward the Salt Lick. But good Lord, it was hot. Even at 6 o'clock in the evening.

Kirsten pointed the vents at herself and turned up the air conditioning as high as it would go. Ryan shot her a look and she relented, turning one vent toward him.

Kirsten leaned toward the dash so she could get the gale of cold air directly in her face.

"Honey, are you sure?" She stared out the front window. She could see the heat rising from the road. "It is so _hot_!"

"Yeah. But everything's air conditioned." Kirsten snorted her response to that. She'd experienced the air conditioning over the past week. It had frozen her to her bones in every building she'd entered and made the heat a relief when she'd walked outside. For about 30 seconds. And then the misery was back.

She shook her head. "OK. I just hope you don't catch pneumonia going from one extreme to the other all the time."

Ryan grinned and kept on driving.

xxxx

They stood under the trees at the restaurant, waiting for their party to be called. One of the men opened a cooler and pulled a beer out of the ice.

"Shiner?"

Kirsten accepted gratefully. She put the icy bottle against her cheek. "I didn't realize how spoiled I was with our weather in California!"

The man laughed and wiped the condensation off his own bottle on the leg of his jeans. "I'm a transplant myself. Michigan. I hate summer." He reached out a hand. "Clive Jacskson."

"Kirsten Cohen."

"This is my wife, Maggie."

Kirsten smiled and shook her hand. Maggie nodded her head at the cluster of young people at the other table.

"Which one's yours?"

"Ryan – blonde hair, blue shirt."

"Handsome," Maggie said approvingly. "Ours is Kyle." There was a burst of laughter from the group. "Loud mouth, orange shirt."

Kirsten studied the perspective freshmen. The khaki shorts and t-shirts the boys seemed to have been wearing uniformly on campus had been exchanged for blue jeans, button-down shirts, and boots. The two girls in the midst of the boys both had on short skirts and sandals. Their breezy, summer blouses came demurely to the waistbands of their skirts and showed off tanned arms and slim throats. They were laughing uproariously at the boys, giggling and flirting.

They were all so young.

"Cain!" The name was shouted from the door. "Cain party!"

Gathering up coolers and purses, the five families hurried toward the entrance. Kirsten felt Ryan beside her, and she smiled at him. Unthinkingly, he shielded her from being jostled when Jack came up suddenly on his left.

"So, Mrs. Cohen, Ryan. Y'all ever had barbecue before?"

Ryan rolled his eyes. Did Jack seriously think they'd never eaten barbecue? "Of course we have. There's a place in Newport that has pretty good..."

"In _California_?" Kirsten hadn't realized you could put so much scorn into one word. Which was amazing considering who her son was.

"Dude! Was it tofu?" Kyle joined the conversation.

"Ha. Ha." Ryan was beginning to realize that being from California was going to make him the butt of more jokes than he was comfortable with here in the land of big hair and funny accents. He would have to consult with Seth when he got home for some appropriate retorts.

"So, what you're saying is, you've never had barbeque." Luke Cain had turned to add his two cents. "Well." He slapped Ryan on the back. "We'll have to show y'all how it's done."

When they'd finally converged on the row of tables that had been set aside for them, the group had managed to divide itself fairly demographically – kids, women, men. Kirsten found herself across the table from Deborah Cain and Maggie Jackson, and on the dividing line with the men. Ryan was in the middle of the kids, and she could see him easily down the table.

As she talked to Deborah and Maggie, Kirsten felt her eyes drawn repeatedly down the table to Ryan. Over the course of the two years Ryan had lived with them, Kirsten had spent much of the time observing him, trying to figure out this boy who had become such an integral part of her family. Watching him now, she felt her heart ache to see the young man he had become, was still becoming.

He seemed so relaxed, his face open and almost wondering as he watched the interaction of the kids around him. None of them knew him, knew his past; and at this moment, that was heady knowledge. Kirsten remembered that feeling when she'd gone away to school, and she knew the other kids were experiencing that same intoxicating sense of freedom to one degree or another. At some point in the coming year, Kirsten recognized, Ryan would want to be known again, would want the safety that comes from being known for who you are and loved for it. But now....

She smiled. She and Sandy and Seth would be there for him when he needed it.

"He's your first to leave home, isn't he?" Deborah's question took her by surprise, and she started.

Kirsten flushed, realizing she'd been caught staring. _Wonderful_, she thought. _They're going to think I'm one of those creepy, too-attached mother's_. But Deborah's eyes were kind.

Kirsten took a fortifying sip of beer. "Yes. Ryan and our other son are actually both going to school this year."

"Wow." Maggie looked at her in sympathy. "Two in one shot, that's tough."

"Do you have any more at home?"

Kirsten shook her head, now fighting the tears that had suddenly sprung to her eyes.

"I cried like a baby when we dropped our first off at A&M." Deborah shook her head at the memory. "And teared up at the drop of a hat the whole summer before he left." She smiled ruefully. "It served an unintended purpose. By the time we got to College Station, Jimmy was so afraid I'd start sobbing uncontrollably, that he was too nervous over my impending break down to be sad when we drove off."

The three women laughed.

"I take it this is old hat for the two of you?" Kirsten asked.

"Jack's our third of four. The black sheep. UT over A&M." Deborah put a hand to her heart. "The shame has been almost too much to bear."

"Kyle's our last out of the house." Maggie looked down the table at her son, who appeared to be trying to force-feed Ryan with a bottle of some bright pink liquid. They could hear the kids encouraging Ryan to try it. "Come on, man, it's Big Red. It will complete your barbecue experience." Ryan, trying to avoid the bottle that kept coming at him, looked apprehensively down the table and caught Kirsten's eye. Trapped, and not about to be humiliated in front of his foster mother, he took a mouthful. His audience waited with bated breath. Grimacing, Ryan swallowed and then fumbled for his remaining Dr. Pepper, gulping down a cleansing mouthful. "It tastes like bubble gum!" Howls of laughter greeted this declaration, and the long-standing feud over the merits of Big Red resumed among the teenagers. Kyle's voice could be heard, strong and clear, even over the din in the restaurant.

"Yeah." Maggie turned back to the adult conversation. "I'm not nearly as broken up about it as I thought I would be."

xxxx

Dinner had ended with exchanges of emails and phone numbers and promises to keep in touch. Ryan ducked his head and smiled at Kirsten when she linked her arm through his as they walked through the rocky parking lot. Sometimes still shy of her touches, Ryan steadied Kirsten when she faltered on her high heels.

"Maybe boots would have been a better shoe choice." She laughed and hung on to Ryan's arm. She grinned over at him. "Now I know what to get you for Chrismukkah."

Ryan snorted and cast a sideways glance at her. "I don't think so." When they got to the car, he opened her door and handed her in. Kirsten leaned her head back against the seat, and let it loll around loosely as they bumped out of the parking lot.

"I'm stuffed."

Ryan laughed. "Me, too."

Kirsten turned her head to look at him. "I liked them."

"Me, too."

They sat in comfortable silence on the rest of the drive back.

When they pulled into Gloria's driveway, Kirsten turned to Ryan. "This is right for you, isn't it?"

Slowly, Ryan nodded his head. "I really think it is."

She put a gentle hand on his arm. "I needed to be sure."

"I know." Ryan turned and met her gaze. "Thank you."

xxxx

His first day of school Ryan had met a girl. After 5 years of friendship, he'd realized she was _the_ girl. Sarah Cunningham had fascinated him from the very beginning – not like Marissa had, with her remote, seemingly unattainable beauty and air of fragile helplessness, but because Sarah had an easy serenity that drew him inexorably toward her. A girl of no drama, Sarah had a gentle smile, and a steady heart. She listened more than she talked, and over the years of their friendship, she'd challenged him and encouraged him, teased him and supported him, loved him unconditionally, and taught him how to love in return. Slowly, he'd learned to trust her with all that he was, and she'd never given him cause to doubt his faith in her.

He'd realized he was in love with her one night in graduate school as they'd sat at a coffee shop, studying. They'd been goofing off instead of reading, giddy with exhaustion and high on caffeine, trying to see how many lines from the original _Airplane!_ they could recite. She'd spilled coffee down her front and he was snickering through, "Looks like you picked the wrong week to quit drinking" when their eyes met. She was laughing her open-mouthed, full-throated laugh, tears in her eyes, head thrown back in complete abandon as she tried to dab at the growing stain on her white shirt.

_I love you._

He felt it so strongly that he thought for a moment that he'd said it out loud. It was so sudden, so overwhelming that it left him staring at her, gaping like a fish.

"What?" she'd asked, still laughing, now wiping at her chin, thinking she had coffee on more than just her shirt.

"N-N-Nothing," he'd managed to stammer. She'd crinkled her forehead at him, like she always did when she thought he was crazy, and left the table to see if she could salvage her blouse.

By the time she got back from the bathroom, Ryan had talked himself down. And then she'd smiled at him again and he was gone. The rest of the night he'd snuck little glances at her until she'd slapped him on the arm and told him to cut it out. Ryan had fled 10 minutes later.

It took him a week to work up the courage to tell her how he felt. He'd asked her to grab some ice cream, and stumbled through his confession over Mexican Vanilla with Heath Bar crushed in. She'd stared at him in silence for a couple of very long seconds, before a slow, sweet smile spread across her face.

"Well, then I guess you better talk to Daddy."

They'd been married three months later.

xxxx

The call had come while Ryan was fixing the training wheels on the bike of their youngest son. Sarah had handed him the phone and knelt down by Jamey, her eyes never leaving Ryan's.

xxxx

Ryan let the almost forgotten cadences of the funeral Mass wash over him. It was different from the services at the church he and Sarah attended with the boys in Austin, but the formality and familiarity of the ritual were comforting, soothing in a way he hadn't really expected. Sarah's grip on his hand was firm, and he could feel Sandy's arm around his shoulders, squeezing occasionally to let him know he was there.

It had been two years since he'd spoken to his mother. She'd been in and out of his life since college, rarely sober, always needing. The final straw had been a drunken phone call where she'd mistaken 8-year-old Will for Ryan and screamed incoherently about his abandonment of her. Ryan hadn't even realized his son was on the phone until the crying boy had handed him the phone. Furious and shaking with emotions Ryan couldn't even identify, he'd cut off his mother's rant with sharp, angry words and hung up. Picking up his son, Ryan had held him until they'd both stopped trembling.

After the service, everyone headed back to the Cohens, and Ryan drifted aimlessly through the small crowd of friends and well-wishers. He shook hands and accepted condolences, sad smiles and hugs. None of these people had known his mother, but they knew him and the Cohens. Ryan knew the emotions were sincere, but the feeling of disconnectedness couldn't be shaken.

After the last guest had gone home, Ryan made his way into the kitchen. He grabbed a beer out of the fridge and slipped out the back door. Ryan rolled his shoulders trying to ease the stiffness that had settled there three days ago during the conversation where Sandy told him his mother was dead. Loosening his tie, Ryan walked to one of the lounge chairs by the pool. Nudging it several feet with his toe, he managed to maneuver it to a spot where he knew from experience that no one could see him from the house. It was a funny blind spot, and one Ryan had exploited many times while he lived with the Cohens. He'd grown to like being able to sit looking out at the ocean when he needed time to himself.

Now, as he sat staring out at the water, he could hear just beyond his consciousness the sounds that he'd come to associate with home. He could hear the light voices of his children and Seth's, dishes clanking together, female voices – Sarah, Summer, Kirsten – quiet laughter, Seth's sardonic voice raised occasionally above the boys'. Taking a long pull on the beer, Ryan leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes, listening, trying to make his mind just stop. He sat in the relative silence and willed his body to settle.

"How you doing, kiddo?"

Ryan smiled at the familiar phrase and weight of Sandy's hand on his shoulder.

"OK, I think."

Sandy looked down at the top of Ryan's sandy head.

"Did you know you can't see this spot from the kitchen?"

Ryan took another drink from the bottle with a smile.

Sandy stared at his foster son for just a moment, and then threw back his head and laughed. Grabbing another chair, he dragged it close to Ryan's.

They sat in companionable silence for a moment.

"How'd you feel about the service?"

Ryan lifted a shoulder. "It was fine." He paused. "I mean, it was beautiful. You and Kirsten ... "

Sandy raised a hand to stop him. "Sweetheart." He turned his head, and Ryan quit talking obediently. "You know that's not what I meant."

Ryan rolled his head toward Sandy. "I know." He tilted the bottle back for another sip of beer. He was quiet again for a long time, the sounds from the house drifted across the patio area – muffled laughter and the soft sounds of cleaning away the mess from the reception.

"I was thinking," Ryan started. He stared down at the bottle in his hand, and started picking at the label. Slowly, he peeled the loose paper off the damp bottle.

"All during the service. I kept trying to remember the good times with her. The times that were, I don't know, happy or significant or ... something." He was studying his nails where his fingers were wrapped around the neck of the bottle.

"And the thing was, I kept coming back to you." He slanted a glance at Sandy. "To you and Kirsten and Seth." He shook his head. "I don't know. I kept looking for something that would make me feel connected to her, to my life before; wanting something that would make me feel sad – or angry even, I guess. But I couldn't." He turned his gaze to the sea.

"It wasn't that I didn't feel anything for her. I did. But it wasn't the grief I thought I'd feel when she died." Sandy's quiet presence had its usual effect on Ryan, encouraging him and comforting him. "I think..." Ryan shifted in his seat, leaning forward and putting his elbows on his knees. He turned his head and met Sandy's eyes. "I think I realized something."

Sandy mimicked Ryan's posture. "What's that?" he asked softly.

Ryan dropped his head down and a small smile softened his face. "That you guys love me. That I love you. That you and Kirsten were my real parents."

Sandy reached out and put a hand on Ryan's shoulder, squeezing gently.

"It wasn't that I didn't know all that before." He faltered, and glanced over at Sandy. "I'd just never felt it so ... viscerally. I can't explain it." His eyes filled with tears. "You guys saved me. And I'm so grateful."

"Ryan..." Sandy looked at the young man sitting next to him, and saw, for a moment, the boy he'd brought home close to 20 years before. That boy, this man. Sandy shook his head in wonder at the family he'd been given. "Ryan..."

A shriek and an affronted, "Ow!" broke the moment, and both men turned in their chairs to see Ryan's two oldest boys dragging his youngest toward the pool. Seth's daughter was pushing him from behind.

"Nooooo!" Jamey's shout of denial was laced with giggles, but he was struggling mightily in the grip of his brothers. "Stop!"

"Hey!" Ryan's voice cut through the clamor of young voices and Will and Ben lost their hold on Jamey in their surprise. Jamey wriggled free and sprinted toward his father. He jumped into Ryan's startled arms as his brothers gave chase, barreling across the patio.

Ryan tucked Jamey into a tight embrace, wrapping his arms around him, and hunching over to protect him. Will and Ben attacked, digging fingers into their father's sides, reaching grasping hands under his arms, trying to gain some kind of hold on their squirming, screaming brother. Unable to resist, Sandy joined in the fray, pulling random children away from Ryan, tickling and adding his own voice to the cacophony. Ryan squirmed and laughed and tried to fend off small, insistent hands.

Finally, breathless with exertion, and hoping to sound firm, Ryan yelled, "Enough!" The children fell back, and Jamey snuggled triumphantly into his father's chest. He grinned smugly at his brothers and cousin who glared back at him.

Giving up, for now, Will asked, "Daddy, can we swim?"

"It's OK with me, if it's OK with Grandpa and Mom."

Three very different pairs of young eyes swiveled toward Sandy.

"Check with your moms. And Grandma!" He yelled as they raced back inside.

Ryan hugged Jamey close to him, resting his chin on the top of his son's head. Jamey rested his head contently against Ryan. His thin arms came up around Ryan's neck. "I love you, Daddy," he sighed. Ryan tightened his grip, his eyes going to Sandy. Reaching out, Sandy smoothed a hand over the bright blonde hair. Ryan kissed his son softly, his eyes meeting Sandy's over Jamey's head.

"I love you, too, sweetheart."

Half way through the service,  
While the choir sang a hymn,  
He looked up above the preacher,  
And he sat and stared at Him.

_He said "Forgive me, Father," when he realized,  
That he hadn't been unloved or alone all his life.  
His arms were stretched out as far as they'd go,  
Nailed to the cross, for the whole world to know. _

"_I love you this much and I'm waiting on you,  
To make up your mind: do you love me too?  
However long it takes, I'm never giving up.  
No matter what, I love you this much."_


End file.
